


Beef Bourguignon

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2887058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Togami and Fukawa try to cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beef Bourguignon

**Author's Note:**

> one of my friends suggested this as a prompt

Touko decided that two kinds of clean existed within a kitchen.

One smelled fresh, of lemon or pomegranate or whatever washing up liquid had been acquired at the store however long ago. This clean wasn’t a pristine clean due to the odd smudge of batter yet to be wiped away, caught in the crack between worktop and oven, or due to a kiss of coffee translucent on the vinyl floor, its puddle remnants warped by toes that scuffed. In transience these imperfections seemed appropriate, expected like a curious child with chafed knees. Those stubborn marks that refused to be scraped away were simply birthmarks. Natural. Worth only a half-interested graze from a finger.

The other kind of clean was dull, with no glow, no fragrance, with a dishwasher stuck in limbo between loaded and unloaded. Bowls caught tears from a dripping faucet, palming diluted milk, and the ground insides of cereal boxes lay scattered among rings of coffee grown in habit. Calling it untidy wouldn’t be accurate for it appeared clean at a glance.

Neglected. Neglected captured its essence.

Neglected was the Togami-Fukawa kitchen.

Living together in an apartment, Byakuya and Touko had no access to the world’s finest chefs that Byakuya grew up taking for granted. The responsibility for filling their cupboards fell onto them, not three adults who often forgot they were parents to a small girl who needed to clamber up chairs and kitchen counters to scavenge for meals.

At first, they simply ate out. One fast food restaurant that they visited was called MOS Burger, with a motto, ‘making people happy through food’. Burgers, hot dogs, rice dishes, none of these appealed to either of the pair but the district they lived in gave them little choice in venues. They lived local to an Ichiran Ramen, which Touko liked even less as everyone ate their ramen alone in a booth, and she knew Byakuya didn’t enjoy it whatsoever. He didn’t enjoy any of them. He hated fast food.

“Touko,” he said, one day, on the couch, with his arm bent around her back. “You should learn how to cook.”

Her eyes flitted from her book to him. She kept her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Me?”

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, pausing from his own reading. “You are at home more than I am, after all.”

“I’m usually writing then...”

Byakuya shifted a little in his seat. “I recall you telling me that you intended to cook all my meals and do all my laundry, before we,” he cleared his throat, “entered a relationship.”

She wiggled. “Y-Yes,” the laundry ended up becoming a shared responsibility as washing clothes often slipped her mind when she had a deadline, “but I wouldn’t know where to start yet.”

What a terrible housegirlfriend she was.

“I’ll be supervising you, of course,” he said, rubbing her side with his palm as he sat up straighter. Though he may have stroked her unintentionally, she rewarded him with a smile anyway. “I’m quite particular about which foods I eat, and after what I’ve been exposed to recently culinary-wise...”

He scrunched up his face and Touko forced herself not to coo at how cute he was even when showing disgust.

“... I think it’s best for our health and our bank accounts if we can prepare our own meals,” he told her. “I won’t expect you to prepare everything... if you were to fall sick, I would starve or you would contaminate me with your illness. We will learn together as you seem uncertain and I suppose I could always brush up on a few areas.” His eyes met hers. “Is that acceptable, Touko?”

‘You’ had changed into a ‘we’, it seemed.

“Yes,” she said, nuzzling into him as she returned to her book.

The following day, they walked into the only bookstore situated in their area. Touko’s nose quivered at the dust but she didn’t sneeze, and she pinched her nostrils shut until she dissipated one that threatened to erupt. Though small, the store utilised what space it had with a maze of bookshelves, and Byakuya navigated Touko to the aisle that contained cookbooks. Once there, he let go of her hand so his finger could skim across book spines.

“‘How to Master French Cuisine’,” Byakuya read aloud. He plucked the book in question off the shelf and tucked it under his armpit, continuing to browse.

Touko twiddled her fingers. None of the cookbooks caught her eye but not wanting to disappoint her darling Byakuya, she decided to search for a cookbook that specialized in desserts.

Oh, of all her fantasies in the kitchen that involved food, desserts set her heart racing the most. How lovely it would be for Byakuya to come home one day to a cake stacked with layers upon layers of different flavours, all coated in icing and sugar flowers, and how lovely it would be to feed him. She could sit on his lap and slip slices into his mouth, and she would lick her fingers clean, and he would grin and open his mouth obediently for more. Or, or, or, she could jump out of the cake and he could lick her clean instead.

“Those remind me of Mori Yoshida’s pastries,” Byakuya commented, looking at the book in Touko’s hands from over her shoulder.

“Eh?” Touko flinched, nearly dropping the book.

Byakuya pointed to the cover. “That creampuff is clearly influenced by the work of Mori Yoshida. When I lived in France, I went there with my butler a few times. Those images on the front bear a similarity to the style of many of his goods.”

He took the cookbook from her and flipped through it.

“His lemon cakes packed a flavour too subtle for my liking,” Byakuya remarked, keeping his eyes down. “That is one of Yoshida’s shortcomings. With the recipe, we can amend that...”

After Byakuya reached the end of the cookbook, he slotted it next to the one under his armpit. His hunt for more suitable cookbooks resumed and once he had obtained five in total, he held out the fifth toward Touko. She extended her hands and he carefully unloaded all of the cookbooks into her palms.

“This will do for the time being,” he decided. “We can return home to peruse them once I’ve paid for them all. One of these books has beef bourguignon, which I want to eat for dinner.”

Touko trailed after him, hugging the books to her chest. Beef bourguignon wasn’t something she could spring out of, not like a cake. Not without putting more thought into the action first.

“Are you sure we have all the ingredients at home?” she asked.

They arrived at the checkout. She dropped the cookbooks onto the counter and opened the first one the cashier scanned the barcode of, flicking to a page near the middle.

“For grilled monkfish, the dressing needs edamame beans, for example.” Touko angled the double spread of pages toward Byakuya, whose brow furrowed after reading the list of ingredients. “We’ll have to go to the market for some of these.”

The cashier scanned the last of the books and shoved them into a single carrier bag. Byakuya whipped out his wallet from his jacket pocket and paid for the books.

Outside, they saw a bench on the other side of the street which Byakuya led Touko over to. They sat down and Byakuya rifled through the bag for one of the cookbooks.

He scanned its list of contents for a certain meal and then skipped through the pages to the one he wanted. “Beef bourguignon...” It required more than a dozen ingredients, including herbs and spices and many things both knew their kitchen did not have, but Byakuya had vocally expressed that he wished to eat beef bourguignon and when Touko noted how his lips pressed together and how his eyes narrowed, she knew that was what they were going to have for dinner.

* * *

Most eye catching about the plaza which hosted the market were the rows of vibrant specks of coloured fruit and vegetables. Oranges, reds, yellows and greens melded into a scale of hues that were at this time irrelevant because beef bourguignon called for none of them.

Touko and Byakuya wound their way through the market, gifting glances at any stalls with subdued colours. Byakuya walked with the cookbook out, reading it through several times and letting Touko hook her arm around his so she could direct him away from any obstacles.

“I think they sell herbs over there,” said Touko, spotting a stall that seemed to sell not only herbs but cooking oils.

At her words, Byakuya looked up and approached the stall in question.

The vendor greeted them with a smile that carved more wrinkles into her face.

He cleared his throat. “We would like to purchase various herbs and some vegetable oil.” His eyes lowered. “I need garlic, parsley, bay leaf, thyme, rosemary...”

“Garlic isn’t a herb nor a spice,” said the vendor. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned over the counter, flashing him a toothy smile. “Going by your book, I take it you’re trying to cook something in particular... and going by how twitchy you are, you might be in over your head.”

“I’m not twitchy...” Byakuya’s face twitched. “And I’m not in over my head at all, thanks.”

To Touko, the vendor’s words were a slap to the cheek. “D-Do you want us to buy anything or not?”

The vendor bowed her head. “Here, pass me your book and I’ll find you both what you need.” She stretched out her arm and accepted the cookbook from Byakuya.

Gathering all the required ingredients took her two minutes of picking and packing that her customers watched with slight disinterest.

“You’ll want to use chuck steak,” said the vendor, setting the ingredients onto the counter. “It’ll come out dry otherwise, unless you don’t want to have nice and tender beef.”

Byakuya calmly paid for the goods. If Touko had been in his place, she would have snapped and demanded that the woman apologise for sticking her nose into a customer’s business, but the flicker of contempt extinguished soon after it had ignited and Touko supposed that the woman might have been sincere in her help.

Anyway, Byakuya seemed unperturbed so Touko waited patiently for the transaction to be completed.

“We’ll have to buy this chuck meat,” said Byakuya as they walked off, reading the list of ingredients again. “Red wine, we have some of that at home. Do we have any tomato purée?”

She turned her head and tasted the end of her finger. “I don’t think so but we can get the rest of the ingredients at the store down the road.”

Over their head indeed. Touko didn’t know if she could forgive that quip, considering it had been aimed at someone like Byakuya who obviously knew what he was doing.

* * *

“A large casserole?” Byakuya squinted at the step-by-step guide in the book, his fingers white with flour. “Isn’t that a food? How am I supposed to heat the oil in that?”

Touko tapped on her cellphone, bringing up an internet search. “It means a pot.”

He searched through the cupboard dialogically above their stove and brought out the biggest stainless steel pot they owned. Aoi gave it to them as a moving in present and neither had used it since they were given it. “This needs cleaning. It’s coated in dust.”

A thin coat of dust, but a coat nonetheless. Touko scampered over so she could wash it in the sink, and when it was clean, she gave it back to Byakuya so he could heat the vegetable oil.

Byakuya finished dusting the meat with flour and fried the masses of beef inside the casserole dish until the pieces were all brown. He then tossed in many of the other ingredients - herbs, spices, red wine, tomato purée, sugar and salt - and once he deemed the concoction acceptable, he replaced the lid and pushed the casserole dish into the oven.

“We’re meant to leave it in there for three hours,” he said, swatting at the cookbook with the back of his hand. “That’s quite some wait...”

Touko’s stomach growled as she looked at the clock on the wall. That would mean they’d be eating dinner after seven.

“While it’s cooking, we’ll have to slice the bread,” said Byakuya, checking the following steps in the recipe. “After the bread has been stirred in with the milk, we’ll have to leave it for fifteen minutes.”

“That leaves us plenty of time to do things.” She threw him a half-lidded smile.

Byakuya continued down the recipe. “We’ll need to add egg to the mix afterwards, as well as some herbs, and it will have to be fried with butter for approximately five minutes.”

“We can still... get up to stuff, in that time.” Touko crawled her fingers away from the rest of her body, across the worktop so her arm was stretched out fully.

“Twenty minutes before the stew is ready, we’ll need to season it.”

“I’m only wearing panties under this apron,” she blurted.

“That’s nice,” he replied. Byakuya realised what she said and jerked his head up. “Oh...” His brow twitched. “So you are.”

Had he not been holding a heavy book, he would have dropped it onto his foot. Instead he did the opposite and tightened his grip.

The ends of Touko’s lips curled upward and she stepped away from the sink. She reached out her arms and crossed them over behind his shoulders.

Byakuya tensed for a moment but then relaxed very slightly into her touch. He set the cookbook down onto the counter behind him. “My hands are dirty.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re dirty,” he said, making no attempt to unhook her arms from around his neck. His hands curved around her waist slowly.

She hummed.

“The utensils will need washing up.” Byakuya’s eyelids sank so she could only see slithers of his eyes. “The worktops will have to be wiped down as well, and the ingredients put away...”

“I’ll do that after,” she promised.

His hands worked their way to the knot in her apron string. “You’re quite the distraction, aren’t you? I won’t be able to concentrate on much else with you hanging onto me.”

Her grin widened.

Byakuya pulled at the knot in her apron string and watched the two ends swing free. Then, without averting his eyes, he set the timer on the oven for an hour.

* * *

They stared at the uncooked beef bourguignon inside the oven.

“... We didn’t turn the oven on,” Byakuya said.

“We didn’t,” agreed Touko.

He pushed his glasses up with two fingers. “Do you think Naegi has finished his dinner yet?”

 

 


End file.
